No Way in Hell
by chumato
Summary: Set during S4. A take on why Triana Orpheus would never get with freckled, fawn-faced Dean Venture. Slight Dean/Triana, total denial.


**Note:** It's been a long while since I've watched the last few episodes and season 3, but if my mental timeline serves, this story should be set right after Triana meeting the Master and deciding to move in with her bombshell mother Tatyana. Let's all just pretend there was at least a day in between her closet encounter and finally moving out of the Venture Compound for this story to take place.

This story is also in part a personal, indignant passive-aggressive response to Doc Hammer/JP stating that a girl like Triana would never go steady with Dean in a past interview I either read or listened to. Au contraire, my dear creators! I refuse to believe!

* * *

**No Way in Hell**

* * *

There was no way in hell—especially because the Master had said so himself—that Triana Orpheus was ever going to "get with" Dean Venture.

Homeschooled kids with failed superscientist fathers and weekly encounters with maniacal villains had a fate worse than she, and they certainly would not make emotionally stable life partners. The balding, fidgety, grimy anxious man she had seen was definitely not—NOT—someone she would stand to live with; thus she had to shut down whatever "thing" that was developing between her and Dean before the sad little man became a reality.

She had no real feelings for him, anyway. His naïveté was just a bit exotically cute, a pop of color in the drab trashy abyss of teen goth culture she was familiar with. His eccentricity came without affectation, and he was a product of pure mis-parenting and a genuinely fucked up childhood; it was truly more than the other pothead guys at the parties could speak of.

Triana simply felt some compassion for the boy and his brother. The nontraditional occupation of their parents had put them through strange and upsetting experiences, but somewhere along the line, Triana had taken to seeking normalcy whereas the boys seemed to drift further into craziness. Dr. Venture also seemed to have way too many issues of his own, which rendered him incapable of being a loving father to his sons.

Again, Triana only felt bad for Dean Venture… and nothing more.

One night she had seen him sitting by himself on the lawn outside the compound, arms hugging his legs and his chin resting upon his knees. Curious, she walked briskly out into the cold air and gently approached him.

"Dean, it's almost 2 am. Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

He pulled his legs in closer.

"I'm not tired, I guess. Hank's up too, trying to map out possible locations Brock might have gone to."

She knelt beside him.

"Any luck?"

"He's ruled out the garage and strip club so far."

She noticed a slight grimace form on his face. His eyes were downcast and mouth tightly shut. He'd experienced a lot of strange things in the past couple of weeks, and he looked completely strained. Seeing tons of people and your partially developed clone "slugs" killed on your lawn in an explosive massacre was something that would mess up anyone's psyche and sleeping habits.

"Why can't we just have normal lives?" he started, his voice quiet and quivering. "Why do we have to get people dying all the time, have Brock quit, and get homeschooled in a box? I just want to be like everyone else, not have my stupid dad drag us into this business. I don't want to be a superscientist. I don't want all…or _any_ of that."

Dean sighed.

"But I don't want to disappoint pop. He's counting on me to take his place."

Before that moment, she had never seen someone look so sad and exhausted. Without a thought she found her hand reaching for his arm. His arm let go of his legs and allowed her hand to fall into his. His hand felt warm and soft. Comfortable.

"Dean, you really should do what feels right. You deserve at least that much."

He smiled weakly and nodded. He looked really tired.

"You deserve that too, Triana."

For a moment, with her hand in his, all felt right in the world.

* * *

There was no reason to make anything of that instant, that one night in front of the Venture compound when they held hands and comforted each other in familiar silence. They were just two people who simply understood, and knew, and wanted some quiet peace in their lives.

It didn't matter that he was the nicest and most debilitatingly innocent boy she'd ever met, or that he looked like a fawn when he was sad and tired, or that his hands were so nice to touch.

It didn't matter that, in that one instant, she imagined blissfully settling with Dean Venture and having a family with him.

It didn't matter that she saw a glimmer of hope in that maybe—just _maybe_—there could possibly be a way they could help each other discover a future of happiness and stability and love.

As the Master had pointed out, Triana had a fate more exciting and fulfilling as a sorceress; _much_ more stimulating than art school and a trapdoor trainwreck of a marriage.

She didn't have any feelings for lanky, freckled Dean Venture. There was no way in hell they were going to "get together."

Just no way.


End file.
